Trials
by Lox
Summary: A blast from Angel and Spike's past. Someone shows up at Wolfram and Hart looking for explanations and some serious backpay.
1. Bloody Siberia

The rain was heavy, streaming from the sky in great torrents, striking the pavement with a low hiss. My long black hair clung to my face, the rain clumped my eyelashes together, ran down my already soaked and torn black clothing, and dripped to the ground, noiseless in the storm. In many places around me, the ground was rent and up heaved, as if something had ripped a giant gash through the earth. I faced my pursuer now with grim determination, long having decided that the second I had killed the last of these things, I was hightailing it back to the L.A branch of Wolfram and Hart and taking a long, long leave of absence. Those God forsaken Tahmrof demons. They had to come in droves, thirsting for essence, and they proved damn near impossible to kill. The sword this one wielded seemed to be made of pure energy. Perfect. My own sword shone with the grey of mortal steel, seeming pretty dull next to his weapon.  
  
But after months of fighting these things, I still got off on killing them. Still quivered each time I delivered the killing blow. Cause it doesn't matter how much you try and quash it, or how much you deny it, or how much bloody pig's blood you drink... The demon inside you still bays for blood. And I love it... Fighting. The only time I'm sure of who I am and what I want. Who am I? I am the Huntress – Master vampire. What do I want? To survive this fight. There is no heroism. Bravado, definitely. But absolutely no hope for redemption. I am well aware of what I am, maybe not who, but what, and what's in store for me. And, truth be told, there are times when I wish things could be different... But what can you do? You play the buggering cards you're dealt. But that doesn't mean you still can't enjoy it. The fight, the kill, the rush... If the weapons proved inadequate, and they sometimes did, they would be tossed to the side, and the fight would descend deeper into the savageness better known to nature and the human soul. Those were the fights I revelled in. The ones I lived for.  
  
He was walking towards me, with slowness of one who knows his prey cannot run. There were no opening words, there was no need, plus I'm pretty sure they can't talk short of grunting. His blow came at my shoulder, and I managed a quick sidestep, launching myself into a spin, relying on the synergy generated when the adrenaline is pumping, the demon is howling and the human side of you wants this too, and your body becomes a whirlwind of death and destruction. I had had much practice. A hundred and thirty years worth of practice. Too much practice. Sheer rage fuelled force threw my sword into his side, cleanly slicing through plate mail, shearing his body in two. I did not stop, knowing that mere physical damage was never enough to kill one. The wound I inflicted must've healed instantly, as out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of light, too late to react. Pain ripped through my mouth, splitting my cheeks and sending a gush of blood down my throat. The demon inside me screamed. I stopped, and worked my jaw a couple times, focusing on repairing the wound. It healed in a couple seconds, the skin and muscle reattaching itself at an accelerated rate. I spat the out blood, smirked and focused again on my target. He was coming at me again, and this time I was more prepared. His blow this time was directed to the neck, bloody hell, do they learn quickly. It only took them a few weeks to find out how to kill a vampire. Decapitation would end it for me. But it sure didn't work on them. I bent to the side under the blow, caught his wrist with my right hand, and let the force of his blow pull me off my feet. I cart wheeled through the air, and landed on my feet facing away from him. I still had my grip, and using his leftover momentum, I pulled him over my head and slammed him against the ground. I immediately planted my right boot on his chest, my left on his sword arm, and jammed my sword into his neck. There was no attempt to yell in pain, I figured by now they must not have felt any. The tissue instantly tried to heal around the weapon, but I gave my sword another jerk, ripping the new skin apart.  
  
"Bleeding hell! Why wont you just bloody well die!?!"  
  
The heart, Rigan.  
  
Moving my boot down to his stomach, I hacked through his armour and made an 'incision' into his chest with my sword. Before it could heal, I reached my hand into the cavity, and grasped the beating thing. It seared my hand as I ripped it out, and tossed it to the side. He finally stopped moving. I removed my feet, and looked at his weapon. It had lost it's glow, and looked like a normal bastard sword, and the metal was quickly melting onto the pavement. I spat more blood out to the side, and walked away.  
  
"I need a sodding drink."  
  
*~* 


	2. A History Lesson

Wolfram and Hart hired me about nine months ago. Said they needed someone with good fighting skills, able to heal quickly and be adverse to pain. I had just arrived in L.A, trying to find something new in the City of Angels, something I hadn't done before. Because when you're alive for a hundred plus years there's little left to do really. I applied, I got it, now I'm here. In bleeding Siberia. No joke. Turns out a client of the Russian branch had accidentally opened a doorway into another dimension, (Garnak to be exact) a place where these ugly bastards called Tahmrofs ruled the roost. They jumped out, and then went on some gigantic killing spree, destroying the Moscow Wolfram and Hart, and let me tell you, this upset a few people. I was part of some crack extermination squad that was supposed to take these buggers out. The team was made up of other vampires, demons, a few humans and some witches. All supposedly some of the best warriors money could buy. Now I'm the only one left. And I want to go home.  
  
Tahmrofs look like those big lizards you see at the zoo, the ones with the horns and big claws that eat crickets by the bucketful to the delight of little boys. Except unlike their smaller, more amusing cousins, Tahmrofs are human shaped, seven feet tall and crammed into thick body armour. And, cheeky buggers that they are, crickets aren't so much on the menu. More like essence. Whatever that is. All I know is that it bloody hurts when they suck it out of you. I've had a few close calls. Tahmrofs move in groups. They're pack demons. And that's how I know that they're aren't many left. The packs are getting smaller, there's more and more strays, wandering on their own. That's how I know that I'm winning. Tahmrofs also kill each other at the drop of a hat, which suits me just fine. They regenerate like the dickens though. And even when I concentrate fully I can't do it as fast as they can.  
  
The deal made with Wolfram and Hart was that we kill all the Tahmrofs, or die trying. Which means that I can't contact them until the job is done, which means I have to stay in this godforsaken country and which also means that Wolfram and Hart have no idea that I'm the only one left. They either think that we're all here, plodding along, or that we're all dead. Christ, can I never get a sodding break!? There's one more pack of these ugly bastards left. I've been tracking them for days. After this I'm though, I don't care if there are any left or not, I'm heading back to L.A, taking a long, hot bath, and sleeping for a month. I guess I'll have to make my own way back, but after tonight, I'm done. I'm going home. 


	3. Welcome to LA

Chapter 2: Welcome to L.A 

"I want my own office."

Angel looked up from his seemingly endless stream of paperwork to see Spike giving him a stubborn look from across his desk. Damn it, he wasn't in the mood for this.

"No, Spike."

"_And_ my own secretary."

"You don't _do _anything Spike, why would you need an office!"

"Don't do anything? I pull more weight around here than half these bloody meat puppets! I think I have sodding well earned an office!"

Just as Angel was really beginning to lose his barely maintained cool, Harmony appeared in the doorway.

"Uhh… Boss?"

"Not now Harmony." He ground out. "No. Office. Spike. You get me?"

"Typical! Typical!" Spike shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Angel. "Never giving me the credit I deserve! Never letting me forget for _one_ _second_-"

"I'm not giving you an office, Spike!" Angel bellowed, his all-too-fragile grip on the world of calm slipping once and for all.

"Sorry Boss…" Harmony tentatively interjected, "but there seems to be-"

"Not now Harmony!" Angel boomed towards the blonde.

Spike was adamant about not letting this one go. "An office or I walk!"

Angel stood and leaned forward over his desk. "So WALK."

Before Spike had time to reply, a Wolfram and Hart security guard smashed through Angel's office window.

Prying his eyes off the man now dazedly trying to get to his feet amid the shards of broken glass, Angel turned questioning eyes to Harmony.

"I tried to tell you!" the young woman whined. "There's some girl killing people in the lobby!"

But Angel was already swooping past her, with Spike close behind. Harmony scurried to keep up.

"Do we know who she is?" Angel demanded. Keeping his gaze locked in front of him.

"Apparently she walked in demanding to see Holland Manners. The guard at the desk told her that someone else was in charge now and when she was denied entrance to see you, well… that's when she started throwing people…"

"Disgruntled former employee?" Spike offered, still keeping stride with Angel, eager for a fight.

"Whoever she is I don't-" Angel began but trailed off as they came to the top of the stairs descending into the lobby. Amidst the wreckage of shattered glass, broken light fixtures and what appeared to be the remains of the front desk, stood a girl. Surrounded by the unconscious forms of humans and demons alike, she was making quick work of what was once Wolfram and Hart's crack security team.

She was facing away from Spike and Angel, but from what they could make out she was tall, a brunette, muscular, and judging from the way she had just backhanded a three hundred pound security guard across the lobby, she was most definitely a demon. A faded and torn black jacket was draped around her and she wore black pants and a white tank top that had similarly seen better days.

As Angel and Spike made their way down the stairs, Spike couldn't help but frown as a new yet familiar scent caught him off guard. It smelled of blood and age and something he couldn't quite place, but oh, so _very_ familiar. Spike caught Angel's eye as they reached the bottom of the stairs and started across the lobby. Spike could tell Angel smelled it too. Who _was_ this girl?

Spike broke away from Angel and began approaching the woman from her other side, effectively blocking any means for her to escape as Angel strode up behind her just as she snapped the final guard's neck in her pale hands. Angel made to grab her shoulder, yet it seemed she sensed the movement behind her and quick as lighting landed a powerful kick to Angel's chest, sending the vampire sprawling. Finally turning and surveying her newest attacker, the woman grinned as she watched Angel pick himself up, his body turned just enough to obscure his face from her view.

"Listen mate, this is dead entertaining an'all, m'having a ringer of a time, but all I want is to see whoever runs this tip and-"

Before she could finish, Spike rushed her from behind. Yet again anticipating the attack, she threw out an elbow, which Spike easily caught. It was only now that Spike was in full view of her face. They both froze, the woman's arm still in Spike's iron grip, her eyes wide and a look of disbelief flooding her face, one that the blonde vampire knew was mirrored on his own.

"_Will_?" she whispered. Her all-too familiar green eyes narrowing as she studied his features, as if to find some telltale clue that this indeed, was _not_ the case.

"…Bloody 'ell…" Was all Spike could manage as he shakily released his grip on her arm and took a step back as she turned to face him more fully.

"Someone care on filling me in on what the _hell_ is going-" Angel began from the other side of the lobby, but stopped when the woman turned to see who was speaking. Angel nearly choked.

"R-Rigan!" he managed, his face incredulous and disbelieving.

"**Angelus**?" she nearly screamed upon recognizing the dark vampire she had moments before kicked across the room.

Her attention flicking back and forth, from Spike to Angel, she felt she had lost all control over her voice, simply reeling silently in the sudden and _completely_ unexpected appearance of two major players from her past as Wesley and Gunn descended into the lobby cautiously, eyeing the destruction and the strange woman in the middle of it.

"Angel?" Gunn questioned warily, stepping over the unconscious form of a security guard as he came to stand beside his boss. "What's going on?"

"I'd like to be filled in as well!" Rigan finally managed, her voice now fully under her control once again.

"Harmony?" Angel called over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving Rigan.

"Yeah Boss?" came the chirpy reply.

"Get someone in here to clean this up… Spike, Rigan… let's do this in my office…"

"_Your_ office?" Rigan asked, silently questioning whether or not _any _of this would _ever_ make sense but following Angel's lead up the stairs with Spike close in tow.

"…Bloody L.A…" she mumbled to herself, stepping into Angel's office, noting the broken window as Spike shut the door behind her. Pointing to the broken glass now littering the floor, she questioned, guiltily: "That wasn't me, was it?"


End file.
